‘He’s a rascal.’ Fiona laughed, briefly turning from her position at the bench.
‘He’s gorgeous.’ Bess buried her face in his fur. ‘Have you made your donation yet, Mum? For the tree collection.’ Thisyear, The Skylarks had organised to collect real Christmas trees across town in exchange for a donation to the Whistlestop River Air Ambulance. Once a donation was made, a label with The Skylarks logo was sent out to fix to the tree, ready for collection day in January.
‘Already done,’ said Fiona. ‘The leaflet came through my door well before Christmas. I donated there and then so I didn’t forget.’ She took the lid off the Le Creuset pot and the smell of the stew filled every corner of the kitchen as she plopped the dumplings in one by one, submerging each beneath the liquid before she slotted the pot back into the oven for the dumplings to cook.
They continued their chatter as Liquorice settled on Bess’s lap for a fuss. Perhaps attacking the Christmas tree – apparently for the first time in days – had been the cat’s ploy to get some attention.
As they talked, Bess watched her mum relax. This was hard for her too, hard for both of them, all of them even. It must be difficult to introduce a new partner to your children – it was like being a teen waiting for your parents’ approval.
The beef stew was wonderful, the thick liquid rich and flavoursome, the dumplings light and fluffy. The company was pleasant – Malcolm turned out to be easy to talk to – and when he insisted he did the washing up while the women settled in the lounge for a natter, she and her mum talked more about Malcolm, the coach trip he and Fiona had planned to Hengistbury Head. Her mum was happy and it filled Bess with more joy than she’d thought possible.
Before it was time to go, her mum asked briefly about her money troubles.
‘How is it all going?’
Bess didn’t have the heart to say it was getting worse. Shedidn’t want her problems to become her mother’s. Not when she seemed happy again at last. ‘I’m okay. Thank you for lending me that money. I will pay every single penny back.’ She’d said it before but she wanted her mum to know she meant it.
‘I get the feeling you’re holding back.’
‘Mum…’
‘I’m worried.’
‘Please, don’t be. I’ll sort it.’
But her words felt hollow. Her mum was right not to believe a single word.
Bess’s debts were no closer to diminishing. In fact, they were only getting worse. And no matter what she seemed to do, she couldn’t get on top of them.
She had to keep trying. But was that really ever going to be enough?
On the second day of the new year, Bess and Marianne finally had a day off at the same time. Bess had done her best to get another shift, to earn some extra money, but she wasn’t needed. And so for now she put thoughts of her debts aside and focused on something pleasurable.
Usually, Bess relished her alone time, and liked the way their shifts didn’t always line up, but today it felt good to do something for Marianne and give her that cooking lesson she’d promised. She’d found a turkey joint in the freezer section at the supermarket – the last one, with a huge discount – and they’d been in the kitchen for a few hours now.
Marianne had had moments of panic but also moments where she relaxed into it and enjoyed the cooking. She wasn’t anywhere near as bad as she claimed.
When it was almost ready, she turned to Bess. ‘This is a big ask, but… would you mind if I called Gio, got him to come over? It’s just… well, I’ve never made a dinner quite like this.’
‘Sure.’ But a flutter of nerves took hold and no way would she be staying in the tracksuit pants she’d pulled on, nor would she answer the door until she’d put a half-decent top on. ‘Prepare a few more carrots and sprouts; we’ve got a load of potatoes, it’s all good. He’s very welcome.’
And while Marianne called him and took care of the vegetables, Bess sneaked upstairs to make herself more presentable.
When he arrived a short while later, Bess answered the door and tried to act as though she hadn’t just checked her hair for the umpteenth time.
‘Here…’ He handed her a bottle of sparkling non-alcoholic wine. ‘I thought you might be working; this way, you can indulge too.’
‘That’s very thoughtful. Thank you.’ Although Marianne was so thrilled this was working that Bess had already decided she was going to get the chilled Prosecco out when it was time to eat. It was cause for celebration, surely; Marianne had wanted to make a Christmas dinner so badly and assumed she wouldn’t be able to do it.
‘Does it smell good?’ Marianne asked the second Gio got into the kitchen.
He watched her, apron on, oven mitts adorning her hands. ‘It does.’
While Marianne took the turkey joint out of the oven, Gio lowered his voice and said, ‘I wanted to take you to dinner, but this will do.’ And then he looked over at his mum. ‘Is she doing okay?’
Bess liked the way he wasn’t all out for himself. He was thinking about her and dinner but his family was more pressingand she liked witnessing the loyalty, the concern. ‘She’s doing better than okay. I hope you’re hungry.’ She went and got the glasses out ready for drinks.
Bess looked across at Marianne, who still needed a few prompts. ‘Marianne…’ She nodded to the carrots waiting on the board.
